Through the Looking Glass
by QTHorror
Summary: Alice wasn't supposed to be here. People like her are forgotten...left behind...frowned upon. No one notices them unless it's convenient. But him...he's different...he saved her. She has to pay him back. And maybe help him score that crush he's pining over.
1. Chapter 1

**Alice**

Beads of sweat rolled ever so slowly down dark skin before being flicked away in annoyance. Tufts of hair fluff and flare everywhere at the rapid, jerky movement, while small hands steadily work at yanking stubborn weeds out of their place in the garden in front of her.

It was just her luck she'd taken one of the toughest jobs right now. Though to be fair, every job was getting more difficult by the day.

This one though….weeding an overgrown garden in the middle of July heat….she _really_ was desperate.

She'd been at this for a few hours at least; a few hours of yanking weeds and fixing really shitty and ill-informed gardening practices.

It was aggravating.

It was humiliating.

Sighing as the last of the stubborn weeds puts up a fight before conceding defeat, she slowly begins to stand. She takes it a few inches at time, already feeling the dizziness making the edges of her vision fuzzy and weakness making her muscles shake. It wasn't anything new, but worryingly it hadn't gone away, not in a while.

She probably should see a doctor or something.

Too bad she couldn't afford it.

By the time she's completely upright, her breath is mostly gone and the back of her head aches and throbs. A distant call of the name she'd given has her turning her body carefully and dusting her hands on her thighs before swiping an arm across her forehead. She could still feel the sweat soaking her clothes and sticking her hair to her face and neck; it was irritating and frustrating.

Huffing, she rolls her shoulders stiffly, a bone deep weariness settling within.

Damn whoever her parents were for having her in this humid southern hell-hole.

Pasting on a small smile, Alice reluctantly greets the older woman briskly marching towards her, lips pulled up in an equally fake smile. Before she even has the chance to gesture to the now weed free garden, a large glass of water and a small wad of cash is thrust into her hands.

Squirming internally, she knows that the woman wants her gone but seems bound by some moral code to at least try to seem patient and polite. Alice knows how to read people though; this woman can't wait to be rid of her. She doesn't blame her, not really, Alice clearly looks like someone who's been on the streets for a while. It was pure luck the woman ever considered to let her do some manual labor for a little bit of cash.

And the stern suggestion of her husband.

This woman's misplaced guilt was Alice's gain.

The glass of water was pleasantly cool against the skin of her hand, though beads of perspiration were already forming and leaking down it. Downing it in a few swallows, Alice quietly mutters a thanks and passes it back to the woman who hesitantly grabs it, thinly veiled distaste crinkling her nose.

Ignoring the reaction, Alice hastily stuffs the slightly damp money into her pocket and swings her beat-up backpack onto her shoulder. Without another word, she leaves the yard and lets herself fade back into the streets.

It was sweltering, little mirages of heat rising from the sun-warmed roads and sidewalks. In short, it was a special kind of misery.

More and more rivulets of sweat slid down her back and sides, hair plastering against her head even more as the heat begins to intensify. A churning in her gut tells her that she probably should have taken more time to sip at the water slowly versus downing it so quickly. Cold water plus an overheated body and environment doesn't make for a good mix.

Alice hated this city, hated the heat that always seemed to dominate it.

Again she curses her unknown parents.

She could barely remember a time where she hadn't had to live like this. And wasn't that a sad twist of fate, sixteen and not able to remember ever having a home.

A true home.

Not one of those shitty foster homes she bounced to and from.

Enough thinking about _that _though. It was enough to make a person depressed or something, and Alice couldn't afford to be depressed, there was too much to do. She really needed a shower and some food and with the money in her pocket, that was an assurance for tonight at least.

And she knew just where to go to get a quick shower and some warm food.

Shaking herself, she quickly winds her way through alleyways and across busy intersections.

It isn't long before she arrives at a combined gas station and diner, its name so faded only a stylized "M" remains. From what she's heard, it used to be some kind of popular truck stop for travelers. Not anymore though, the years had definitely wore on this place. Especially after the original owner passed away.

Slightly run down though it may be, it's one of the only places where Alice feels safe enough to spend any significant time in.

Panting softly as she crosses the lot, she has to pause a few times as her vision and head begin to swim. The heat rising from the cracked pavement doesn't help the feeling. It's a blessing when she opens the main door to the station, and a cool waft of air dances over her soaked skin. It wasn't the coolest inside, it never was, the AC very nearly run into the ground, but it was much more tolerable than outside.

Waving a subdued greeting to the on duty cashier, Stacy from the way she rolled her hand and barely glanced up, Alice wound her way slowly toward the showers. Grabbing one of the towels set off to the side in a small cabinet, she raises her voice to be heard over the radio playing near the other girl, "I'm going in stall four!"

She barely hears the grunted "Sure" over the clacking of the air conditioner and upbeat pop music on the radio.

Entering a small door, Alice wastes no time locking it and beginning to strip off her things, gingerly taking the money from her pocket and stowing it on an out of the way shelf. With the money safe from getting even wetter, she tosses her sweat soaked clothes ahead of her.

There's a laundry mat down the way a little, but….Alice is stingy with her money. It was easier to just wash her clothes when she showered. Cheaper in the long run too.

Plus she didn't have to stay in one spot for too long.

She preferred it that way.

Popping her bag open, she digs through until she has all she needs to complete her shower. She's nearly out of the cheap shampoo and conditioner she uses, and she'll have to get more soap soon too, but for now she has what she needs. Showers are a rare luxury for her, one she intends to savor for as long as she can.

For thirty minutes she basks in the cool water, scrubbing at her skin, clothes, and hair, never quite feeling clean enough. By the time she's done, her skin has taken on a slightly rougher appearance because of all her scrubbing.

Climbing out and redressing feels like a chore, a burden, but with an aching stomach and weariness settling in deeper into her bones, food and a safe place to rest were fast becoming bigger priorities.

Fingers combing through damp hair, gently detangling it, Alice begins to gather it all up into a messy bun. Her fingers catch on snags and snarls, but she knows that doing it now would save her the hassle of having it tangle and get in the way later.

Grabbing her money and bag, wet clothes tucked in a plastic bag within it, she goes to pay for her shower and meander around the store, looking for soups and other food that would last a while. She'd get herself as much of that as she could before going into the diner for a quick meal.

It had been difficult at first to portion out just how much she could afford and still have money left over for a warm meal. More often than not she'd ended up not having enough to spend on more than what she could get in a can.

This time though…

The waitress in the diner gives her an unreadable look before telling her to sit where ever she'd like. The waitress, Mina, is never rude to her, but she can tell the woman knows that she's from the streets. Alice thinks she's probably seen it before….many times before.

Choosing one of the cheapest, most filling meals, Alice sighs in relief when both the food and the sugar from her sweet tea soothe the ache in her head. It's only as she's leaving to pay her bill does the waitress confirm what Alice already knew.

A plastic bag with a styra-foam box in it is shoved into her hands, the smell of food wafting out of it.

It leaves her speechless for a moment before she clutches it close possessively. Warily eyeing the woman, Alice finishes paying quickly and scurries out the door. She'd known Mina for a little over a year now and the woman had never snuck her food before.

After it's all said and done, she feels a bit better, though it's only temporary she knows. Laden with supplies, she leaves the diner with a fuller stomach, and more cause to be wary.

Tightening one hand on the strap of her bag, Alice hunches her shoulders warily and does her best to keep aware at all times. A single person like her attracts attention on this side of town if they aren't careful.

Alice learned that the hard way.

Forcing back any anxiety, she calmly wanders her way down the streets, feeling sleep begin to tug at her mind. Just a little more and she'd be able to curl up with the rest of her stuff and sleep. Weaving in and out of places, Alice frequently backtracks.

She won't let anyone follow her.

She _won't._

Slowly the buildings begin to give way to a small, thickly wooded park, too grown up for any kids or parents to be really interested in. Pieces of playground equipment sit rusting and falling apart. Blinking tiredly, Alice finds her feet following a familiar path, winding through bushes and trees until a small campsite comes in view.

She was home.

She was finally home.

Allowing herself to drag her feet, she crosses to the tent and shoves her bag through the front flaps. Sitting back on her heels, she can feel the beginnings of more sweat starting to bead along her neck and back.

Sighing in defeat, Alice knows there's nothing she can do about the hellish weather.

Something begins to prickle at the base of her skull and Alice slowly sits up straight. The ambient noises around her have stopped, an eerie silence settling over the woods. The hairs on her arm and the back of her neck stand on end, it'd been a long time since the creatures that lived near her camp quieted themselves.

Something was horribly wrong.

Cold fear flowed its way down her arms and left her hands tingling and numb, clammy sweat beginning to dot her hands. Ice settled around her heart, and sunk slowly into her stomach, causing it to clench tightly.

For several tense seconds Alice thinks that maybe she's overreacting, that maybe her malnutrition has finally caught up to her and caused some sort of panic attack. Her thoughts and hopes are quickly dashed as loud, shuffling footsteps echo behind her. Twisting around slowly the color drained from Alice's face as a figure stumbles toward her from out of the trees. Slurred curses and snarls accompanying them.

Alice feels her lungs burning and realizes distantly that she'd stopped breathing sometime ago. Air rushed out of her tight throat as the figure's eyes flitted up from where they were watching their feet. Glazed over eyes meet her own and for a moment the man –because by now Alice _knows_ even with the waning light— simply stares at her in slight confusion.

For a brief moment she thinks that the man will just turn and stumble back the way he came, that he'd made an honest mistake in his current state. But the way his face transforms into a large smile – terrifying and too full of teeth— makes Alice's heart stop completely.

Leering, the man stumbles closer, "He-eeey….he-eeey there sweet tha-aaang...what's...what's you doing out here all alone?"

The funny thing about fear—for most people anyway—is that they freeze. Their muscles seize in a reaction as ancient as humanity itself. There's nothing racing through Alice's mind…just time suspended between her and this man.

Time doesn't really stop though.

The man makes a lunge for Alice at the same time she tries to dive away from him. The result is both of them colliding and going down. Still sluggish with the fear, Alice is torn between her muscles freezing entirely and her brain trying to get them to move so that she can scramble away.

It gives the man enough time to paw at her shirt, ripping it halfway. Another surge of primal fear rips through Alice.

_No!_

_No!_

_Nonononononononononono!_

Distantly, Alice is aware that the man has managed to completely remove her pants. Distantly she's aware of a loud wailing and someone's arms windmilling everywhere.

_Oh...that must be...me._

The man is muttering something above her, but she can't hear it. She wants him off, she wants him away. She does feel the blow to the side of her head, choking off her screams abruptly. Going completely limp, Alice can't find the strength to move, even as a hand snakes under her panties.

_I don't want this._

_Please God I don't want this._

_Someone...someone...some...one…_

_An..y..one?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Deadlock_Drift

Deadlock….no! No, he was Drift now….or was he? He didn't feel like the old Drift, didn't feel like that guttermech that shot up on stims and sold himself for creds just to start the cycle all over again. He didn't feel like that hopeless, helpless mech that became so enamored with a medic that asked him to make something of himself.

He didn't feel like the mech that both succeeded and failed that medic.

Dea...Drift...didn't feel like that ruthless, angry mech he became as Deadlock. Didn't feel that itch to make his enemies bleed and howl in agony. Didn't feel the lust that came with the anger at the medic who still made his spark rage against its casing.

Oh he was certainly still angry and prone to reacting with violence first, but it wasn't the all consuming, twisted thing it was before.

He..he didn't really know who he was now. Deadlock or Drift or neither. Or _both_.

That's part of the reason he came to this planet. He needed an out, a way to distance himself from what happened to Wing.

Wing….

He was the whole reason Dri...Deadl..._Drift_ began to question himself.

In a way, he was part of the reason why Drift couldn't decide who he was. And that should have, _would have_ enraged him before; both as Deadlock and as Drift the guttermech and leaker.

Now though...he just felt a sad hollowness.

Funny how such a short time with some mechs can impact you in the biggest of ways.

Venting heavily, Drift – it's settled, he's going by Drift again, no more running in circles – takes a moment to appreciate the clarity of the stars on this planet. They were beautiful and glistening so brightly, so unlike what Cybertron looked like nowadays.

This planet didn't have the light pollution that Cybertron used to have.

It didn't have the towering layers built upon the corpses of those unlucky enough to be considered disposable.

This planet didn't have the stink of war and spilt energon.

Something almost like peace washed over him.

Here he could try and find himself again.

But he had to move on, had to keep going and find that purpose again.

Find a purpose other than destruction and death and usage.

Muttering softly to the sky he says, "Wish me luck Wing, where ever you are."

Folding back into his alt mode, he admired the sleekness of the particular model of vehicle he scanned; it was built for speed and appearance. The first he cherished, the sense of freedom it gave him was exhilarating. The second...well he'd just ignore it until it came in handy.

He'd made sure the land somewhere out of the way. The humans knew Cybertronians existed. Hard not to when the Autobots and Decepticons made it a point to drag their feud onto this tiny world. Still he'd landed away from any cities or towns.

He was just cautious like that.

Didn't want any greedy hands to get technology they had no business with.

The drive from where he stashed his ship was short, all things considered. He was able to find some kind of major roadway.

Luckily him. Made it easier to blend in.

Merging into traffic, Drift finds himself...well drifting around. The particular city he'd found wasn't big, not by Cybertronian standards, but it was out of the way and a place where he likely wouldn't be found. Who knew trying to find a purpose could be so boring.

Maybe he should have stuck with the Autobots that had decided to stay on Earth for a time.

Though that probably would have backfired...considering his reputation and past.

Nevertheless, here he was driving around alone, looking for something he didn't even know how to define.

The heat of the asphalt on his tires was grounding in a way, just a little shy of being actually painful. The harshness of the sun beating down on his plating was refreshing in a way, even if the air in this part of the world was damp.

He felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

Even if it was temporary.

He parks in the lot of some little….shop...boutique it says…?

He's not really sure what boutique means, but he can tell that this place is one for a higher class of people. You can tell just by the way they hold themselves and refuse to acknowledge the homeless people just around the corner.

Things aren't so different here...was greed and despair that universal then?

Drift hopes not.

The universe wouldn't be worth much if that's the case.

Tanks churning, he squeals out of the parking lot causing heads to turn and sneer. That little action released some of the pent up anger that he felt.

Useless though it was.

Drift is always angry these days.

So he begins his aimless wandering again.

It isn't long before he finds himself in the seedier, shadier part of the city. The kind of shady that had little to do with the homeless and more to do with the destitute that had given up and turned to drugs and crime to get by. There wasn't anything here he particularly wanted or needed here, but just maybe he could find something to keep himself occupied. Or relive parts of his past he'd rather wipe out of existence….

Honestly he was hoping for the former rather than the latter.

The farther he travels into this section, the worse the twisting feeling in his tank grows. It hadn't really left him sense he'd sped off from that shop. The faces of the people here remind him that even the beauty of this planet and its skies were tainted with darkness.

The sound of raised voices, one more aggressive than the other, prick at the edge of his sensitive audials. The sudden loud piercing wail that is choked off only seconds later send shivers through him. The feeling in his tank grows more and more leaden as he hauls aft in the direction it came from.

Drift's audials are more attuned than most, an upgrade to a natural talent that was one of the most useful to him so far.

The level that those voices are at send a cold, heavy feeling through his spark. He recognizes those kind of desperate cries. He'd made them once upon a time.

An open area filled with broken down metal and toys for children, along with a stretch of trees is what greets him as he takes a corner far too fast. He thinks these places are called parks or playgrounds, but Drift isn't really sure, he's no expert on humans or their culture. Not yet any way.

It doesn't take Drift long to hone in on the sounds, frantic screams and shouts mixed in with snarling curses. A cold chill races down Drift's spinal strut and settles like a chunk of ice in his tanks. Even from a different species, he's sure those kinds of terror sounds won't ever leave his memory.

A red haze settles over him and he feels the blood-lust he felt as Deadlock. Unthinkingly he squeals his tires and launches himself across the deserted playground and toward the wooded area, transforming deftly. Some of the trees are taller than he is, but most aren't and give way to his rage and fear.

The snarls turn into panicked screeches when Drifts flies into a clearing, looking for all intents and purposes like a robotic demon from the pit. It only gets worse when Drift realizes that the human that the scumbag has pinned is a youngling of the species.

Worst of all the youngling's coverings were either missing completely or hopelessly torn.

He'll _kill _this slag-eating pit fucker.

Two pairs of wide eyes stare up at him, one set overflowing with tears and feral terror and the other filled with lust and dawning fear. He spots the _creature's _hand move from between the youngling's legs and Drift loses it.

He's not stupid, he'd made sure to learn as much as he could about humans before he landed. And considering that humans had their reproductive organs between there legs, Drift knew this…._filth_ was assaulting the child.

Giving the pitiful human a feral look of his own, he doesn't hesitate in swiping his servo at them.

It's funny how easily the human goes flying, he thinks viciously. He watches the way they rag-doll into a tree; the impact the filth makes against the trees makes the blood-lust curl in his chest warmly. That thing won't be getting up ever again.

The crunch that beast made only gives him satisfaction. No guilt at all.

Beings like that don't deserve the consideration or guilt or sorrow.

_Never_ fucking _ever._

Drift kind of wishes he'd made the fucker suffer when he turns around and spots the youngling. They're very nearly catatonic, hitching breathes escaping every-so-often, but not moving and starring straight up at the sky.

He doesn't realize that he makes a sound of despair until he hears it echo softly around the clearing. He knows that the small being is suffering terribly. He remembers his own experiences vividly.

His spark starts to ache in sympathy and regret.

No one should have something like this happen to them.

Another noise slips from Drift's vocalizer. This time it isn't something he recognizes. For a second he didn't even realize that it's _him_ making it.

It doesn't feel wrong to make the soft humming and chirping...it's just strange is all. It's not like he was taught things like this. Wasn't taught the basic programming of their race.

Like the old regime would have let bots like him.

Shaking himself, Drift accesses his subspace and pulls out a clean polishing cloth. Moving slowly, he kneels close to the youngling and gently places the cloth over them.

Fear starts to taint the concern swirling in his spark when they don't react, not even a twitch.

Blank amber eyes stare soullessly past him, fixed on a point that Drift isn't even sure exists. He's seen that look before, staring him straight in the face from his reflection in dirty windows and metal.

Tanks churning, Drift gently starts tucking the edges of the cloth around their body, servos being careful not to catch their delicate protoform—skin, whatever they call it. They still don't move, just limply laying there, and suddenly Drift's spark begins to attach itself to this tiny being.

Looking around the area, he notices the ragged covering that holds some kind of berth-like object. If it's possible his spark sinks lower in his chest. This is where this poor youngling has been living, in a dwelling that barely classifies itself as shelter.

A decision starts solidifying in his processor.

Looking down he gently picks them up and holds them close to his chest and spark.

_No one will ever hurt you ever again._

_I swear on my spark._


End file.
